but this is an inconvenience worse than anything that I have seen, even when travelling with half-broken Brazilian mules.
The people boast that their shaggy, long-backed, short-legged poodles equal the noble blood of Arabia, cover 100 miles a day, and carry 300 lbs.—Uno Von Troil says 400. The Thingmannaleið, the recognised march to the Althing, however, is from twenty to twenty-five English statute miles, and I have found 100 lbs. to be a full baggage-load.[24] By proper management, the Lest (caravan) may be pushed on at a pinch some thirty-five to forty miles a day, but every third march should be followed by a halt. On one excursion we allowed three rests in twenty days, but the nags did not recover for many a week. They must not start before ten or eleven A.M., after they have had a good morning feed. They are allowed to drink when and where they please, but only after the chill is off the water. The Icelander seeing a fresh, green grazing, generally dismounts to let his animal have a bite and stretch its limbs, like a dog fresh from sleep. A careful man will walk up and down the heaviest places. About three or four P.M. there is usually an hour’s halt and, during the summer, as the nags suffer greatly from the sun, night-travelling, if we can so call it, where all appears one night and one day, is the rule. Straying is also an inveterate evil, especially in bad weather; the hobbles are rotten cords or withers fastened by bits of sheep’s shanks. Side-hobbling must be attended to; if only the forehand is tethered or knee-hobbled, the beasts have learned by practice to hop as fast and as far as kangaroos, and they will easily waste the best part of an afternoon. Like the Norwegian nags, they are exceedingly fond of rolling in the sand, and consequently the saddle suffers. The shoes should be inspected after every march; in the country parts they may generally be replaced for $1 the pair.
Icelanders ride from the days “when they first see the blood upon their teeth;” their foot gear and the nature of the country incapacitate them from walking, yet with our shoes they would soon learn to climb well. There is a fashion in these things. The Mamlúk Bey would never cross even the street except upon his mare; and the Brazilian church-goer will send many miles for his horse to ride the same number of yards. A walker in Iceland is a low fellow, like the “Zalamah” of Syria. The islander mounts as often on the wrong side as not—of course every cavalry-man should be trained to do the same. His long back and short legs make him a curious contrast with his dwarf monture, and apparently he is easily dislodged—I have seen men come off even when the animals are only bogged. Another element of grotesqueness is the perpetual hammering of the unarmed heel against the animal’s ribs; this “devil’s tattoo” keeps the feet warm, and the horses will lag without it, as the Egyptian Fellah wakes when his water-wheel ceases to creak and groan. The effect is an indescribably loose and shambling seat.
Although cavalcades look tolerably well from afar, individuals are ungraceful and unhandy riders compared with the Gauchos: an Englishman observed to me that the latter will do in the dark what would puzzle the former in the light. The general seat is somewhat like the English, a kind of juste milieu never adopted by purely equestrian races. The Eastern horseman, take the Tartar for a type, sits his horse with “crumpled legs,” as if upon a chair. The Western, that is to say, the peoples of the New World, without exception, stand, as it were, upright with legs apart, riding by balance alone. The Oriental style was probably suggested by the greater steadiness of aim, with bow or gun, obtained by rising upon the shovel-iron stirrups clear of the animal’s back. The Occidental seat was evidently the result of long weary marches over monotonous prairies and pampas, and it never leads to rupture like our cavalry seat; riders carry little weight, and their waists are not tightly buckled down so as to press upon the part most likely to give way.
It is a spectacle likely to be remembered, the shoeing of Iceland ponies by the farrier, who is almost always unprofessional. Five men, without including half-a-dozen spectators and advisers, bodily engage in the task; one holds the cruel twitch, two hang on to the several limbs, one or two hold up the hoof, and number five plies the hammer. And the result is that in travelling you must always expect your animals to be pricked.
The traveller should take out with him a comfortable pony bridle, if he intends to ride far. An Iceland bit is horrid to look at, but the long, heavy mass of brass is never cruel; the chain is not tightened, often, indeed, it is absent, and sometimes a bit of cord does duty. Happily for the horses, they have no curbs, and I have many a time wished that we in England could unlearn the use of them, or rather learn to use them only when required. Nothing more unpleasant than to see both sexes in Rotten Row worrying their animals into perpetual fidgets, and making them throw up their heads like giraffes on the run. And this is not confined to Hyde Park: at Edinburgh I saw an escort of one of our best cavalry corps so pulling at their curbs, that every charger seemed to be upon wires. A light hand is not given to every rider, but all can spare the mouth by using the snaffle.
Upon the whole, I should say, hire your nags. Buyers no longer sell for a song, as the foreign horsedealers are ready to pay fairly for good animals; yet besides the risk of being jockeyed—and in the matter of horseflesh the Icelander is quite the peer
“Of a Yorkshireman hippodamoio”—
the owner, as has been said, will be obliged to travel slowly, and he will incur additional troubles where the inevitable amply suffice. Tolerable riding beasts (Rið hestar) may be hired for $1 (= 2s. 3d.) a day, and baggage-animals (Puls or Klifia hestar) for four marks. The hire should be paid after return. The guide is sure to take the best, in order to whip up stragglers, and he will be the more careful of his monture if he be its owner. Formerly, dogs trained to bark and to keep the Indian file straight, always accompanied caravans: now they are rare and dear. The use of the Madriña, or bell-mare, is utterly unknown—what does Henderson mean by making the Arab’s bell-camel go last in the line instead of first? An extra baggage-animal, besides remounts, is always necessary: the day of the Hesta-kaup is long past when you could exchange a lame or tired-out animal at any farm-house.
The Iceland saddle (Hnakkur), well stuffed and provided with a sheepskin, can be bought at Reykjavik at prices varying from $15 to $50, but the old campaigner will prefer a roomy old English hunting saddle, duly prepared for “razor backs.” The woman’s saddle (Söðull) costs from $40 to $80: it is a kind of arm chair, fronting the near side, and covered with brass ornaments: the feet are supported by a piece of board; and the whole affair is very dangerous—M. l’Abbé Baudouin saw a woman drowned when crossing a not very rapid river by the fault of her riding gear.[25] The lower classes ride à califourchon like the hautes et puissantes dames of the old noblesse de Campagne, and roll off like bundles of old clothes. However unseemly, the straddling style is ever the safest, and I should strongly advise the seat en cavalier in countries where the side-saddle might lead to accidents. The form of riding should be that of the Libanus, with a long arm and a short bridle, always ready to hold up the animal, but never attempting to check it. And those disposed to vertiges should look at the bank, never at the fast-flowing water.